{a demon in disguise}

Alric Bolstridge
First Year
Joined: Mar 24 2012, 07:38 AM

Apr 6 2012, 08:16 AM #1

The drums of war were banging in his head, repeatedly growing louder and louder as he sat, leaning against the wall. The eerie music of silence was all that could reach his ears, providing him with the tiniest sliver of peace. His mind was racing; thought after thought forming, obscuring, then passing away as a new one began the cycle. The days of confusion and irrationality were thought to have been passed as the boy could hardly be considered a puberty ridden teen. He was now eighteen after all, passed the legal wizard age, as well as the muggle one at that. These sorts of feelings, this sort of turmoil - they were all specific to younger teens, male and female alike, who suffered through random spurs of insecurity as their hormones reached new levels of 'high' near constantly. So why was he going through this? Had he not passed the time in life where uncertainties that caused this amount of pain were supposed to be merely a distant memory?

Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption that it was only young teens who were capable of suffering from confusion. After all, confusion was like a disease, fully willing to infect any who could not fight against it. It never just sprung up out of nowhere, too. The seeds of confusion were typically planted by another source, and for Alric, his confusion had been brought about from guilt. Guilt over what had happened between him and his brother, and guilt over his continued studying of the dark arts. A tear, deep enough to rip through time and space had formed within his mortal being, forcing him to live through random moments like this - moments where he couldn't even tell who he was anymore. It was common for him to go through his days telling himself that he was fine; convincing himself so easily that his appreciation towards the potential of the dark arts was perfectly acceptable. Alric Bolstridge was a man who could control himself, so he had nothing to worry about. He could study the dark magic and not worry about the possibility of it twisting his mind or infecting his morals to point where they no longer existed anymore. He could do this, he could, and it was really only because he didn't even see a possibility of his choice doing him any harm in the first place. Three years he had spent at the wonderful institute of Durmstrang, practicing the magic they were so infamously known to teach. He had done well there, excelled even, and nothing horrible had happened there.

Because of all that, it was easy to tell himself he was fine and well to study the subject. People didn't understand its potential in his mind, and it was all because nobody thought it wise to teach the subject in most schools. Alric didn't care to judge people or the standards set for society, they were there for a reason (obviously) and he certainly didn't desire to blatantly say that everyone was wrong. But... in that regard, on... the subject of the dark arts...? He just couldn't shake the feeling that people were too judgmental on the matter. Too closed minded to truly see what was there in front of their eyes. It was a shame, really, and that mentality was unfortunately shared amongst his parents. They contributed to the greater portion of his guilt, being as they were the ones who knew best of all his feelings towards the subject. They checked up on him constantly, their usual weekly letters drenched in their loving concern over his well being. It was great to know he had parents who cared so much for him, but it was awful knowing that something he enjoyed caused them so much pain. It was hard still needing to write to them that he was fine and that they needn't worry over him anymore, especially since it had been years since he had left Durmstrang. Granted, their concerns were justified as the seventh year hadn't quit studying the dark arts after his transfer, but... well they didn't know that. And they didn't need to in his opinion. It would only cause them more worry; more, unnecessary stress that Alric couldn't possibly let them fall prey to.

As confident as he was in his decision to continue his studies, he couldn't shake the idea that maybe, in some small way, he was wrong. Yes, the thought that he was very wrong in his assumptions that what he was doing was fine remained stuck on his mind, permanently etched at the center of his subconscious, constantly reminding him that there was a good possibly he wasn't as fine as he told himself he was. It was for this reason why he was sitting alone, feeling the physical aches that came from some unknown source, yet went perfectly along with the inner pain he felt in his head. His throat felt tense, his breathes were long and excruciating, and he just felt... awful. Just plain awful. He almost felt like crying, but sadly his body didn't seem to think he deserved that outlet. All he was left to do was sit quietly, using the wall behind him as support as he rested the top of his head against it, trying desperately to focus on the conversations of the portraits around him instead of listening to his own thoughts.
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